Light Breaks Through
by CtlrAltSandwich
Summary: During a cleanup mission following the attempted revolt staged by Lord Lenato, the Blue Lions, led by Professor Byleth, uncover a harrowing plot to annihilate all of Garreg Mach Monastery. With little time to spare, and the threat of the Archbishop's assassination hanging in the air, tensions run high, while trust begins to fade away.
1. Chapter 1 - On the Eve of Ruin

AN: pick the blue lions you cowards

* * *

Seteth had told Byleth that this was just an auxiliary mission. After all, only a handful of Lonato's men were still fighting fit, and even fewer still were foolish enough to mount a resistance against the Church. So it followed that this would be the perfect opportunity for Byleth to train his students, especially due to the mounting pressure that damned note had put on them all.

Again, this was what Seteth had told him.

About 7 seconds after arriving in those same fog-clouded woods, Byleth was ready to call bullshit. It was hard enough before, but at least they'd had Catherine during their last encounter here. This time, there was no such luxury. No, instead, Seteth had sent a group of students, one of whom was still recovering from killing his own father, into these damned woods at nightfall. Carrying torches wasn't an option either, since a scout had reported a large number of archers in the enemy's ranks. Sure, they'd be able to see through the veil of night and fog, but then they'd all be easy pickings for said archers.

Cursing his luck, the professor turned towards his students. "Alright everyone, we've arrived. As you can tell, this battle will be conducted under harsh conditions. Enemy forces could be anywhere, so stay alert. Understood?"

There was a silent chorus of affirmations, following which, he started to give orders. "Dimitri, you and Dedue will lead the charge with Annette's assistance. Ingrid, you, Ashe, and Felix will take the left flank through the forest. Sylvain, Mercedes, you're on me. We'll take the right flank. Now, group up, everyone."

"Here are the conditions for our victory," he continued while they shuffled about, "We are to rout the enemy, or to accept their surrender once we've defeated their commander. Scouts have reported a large quantity of archers, so move quietly and covertly. Per usual, if we come across any captives, take all necessary pains to ensure their survival."

Mercedes cleared her throat. "If you're severely injured and I'm not nearby, just shout at the top of your lungs and I'll do my best to heal you."

"Wouldn't that render our whole strategy moot?" Felix said, hostile as always.

Dimitri shot him a glare. "Felix, please. Preservation of life always comes first. We can improvise our strategy, if need be, but we cannot bring back the dead. Isn't that right, Professor?"

"Since when have you cared about preserving life, boar-prince? Getting soft in your-"

"That's enough, both of you," Ingrid said, sternly. "You two can butt heads later. We need to get a move on before they suspect anything."

Byleth nodded, gesturing for the flanking groups to get into position. Just as his group reached the woods on the right, he heard an unfamiliar scream in the distance to his left. Scratch one enemy. Before he could reevaluate the battlefield, however, a bloodstained axe came for his neck. With the speed and ferocity of a wolf, he ducked, turned, and sliced the assailant's arm clean off, all in one smooth motion. Before the attacker could react, a fireball caught him in the chest, and a javelin pierced his head. The man was impressively dead.

Sylvain grimaced. "Jeez. Can't help but feel like that might have been overkill. Anyway, should we tell those three to start heading up the path?"

"Good call. You two go on ahead, I'll be just a second," Byleth said. As he turned, waving towards Dimitri and Dedue, he saw an archer nocking an arrow aimed for his heart. Byleth was about to duck, but before he moved, an arrow found its mark in the archer's throat. Looking to the source of the shot, he could just about make out a figure waving in the distance. Probably Ashe.

* * *

Dimitri had got the message, thankfully enough. As was the norm, Dedue insisted on taking the lead, claiming that it was his duty to serve the budding regent. Really, all he wanted from Dedue was a friend. His being a vassal was strictly to ensure his continued well-being on Fódlan.

"Your Highness," Dedue said, snapping Dimitri back to reality. "We are approaching our position. I suggest you ready your lance. Something feels amiss."

"Amiss? How so?" he responded. Dedue's instincts were top-notch, so if he figured something was off, then something was definitely off.

Dedue turned suddenly, his eyes uncharacteristically wide. "Behind you!"

The royal turned around just in time to see a would-be assailant bisected by a razor-sharp gale. "Uh, guys? I'm here too," came Annette, her hand still illuminated from casting the spell.

"Annette, why didn't you say something sooner? His Highness could have been killed if you were but a second late!" Dedue said, his voice agitated.

"Hey, it's no big deal, right? I was just waiting for a clear shot. Besides, look at this thing," she said, grabbing the soldier's rusted blade. "I think it'd have probably fallen apart when it hit Dimitri's armor."

Dimitri chuckled. "I think she's right, Dedue. Come, let us continue."

"Your Highness, are you sure that this is the best plan of attack? Why not have Ashe take your place? I'm certain Lonato's men would-"

"That's enough, Dedue," Dimitri snapped. "I- Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. But I trust the Professor and his tactics, and as for Ashe, he... He's had enough to deal with of late. Placing him in unwarranted danger is the last thing he needs right now."

Dedue bowed his head. "I apologize for speaking out of turn, my lord. Very well, follow my lead. I shall-"

Another sharpened gale whizzed past Dedue's head. "Annette? What is the meaning of this?"

The orange-haired mage grinned, holding a finger to her lips. A second later, a scream came from the fog ahead. "Now, if I'm right, which I usually am..." she trailed off. Suddenly, the fog began to dissipate.

"How did you manage that, Annette?" Dimitri asked, incredulous.

"Just like last time, the fog was being maintained through the use of Dark Magic. All I had to do was figure out the origin of that magic and apply... Let's call it an improvised formula, and presto! No more fog, and no more Dark Mage either!" she said, the grin never leaving her face.

Dimitri went pale. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are those..." Dedue trailed, squinting.

"Bodies," Annette finished, wincing. "Looks like we found all those archers the Professor was talking about."

As the three approached, they could see at least 15 archers, all lying dead, their bodies mutilated to varying degrees. Some looked largely untouched, but for a clean line drawn across their necks, while others were missing limbs, or heads. Among the carnage, there was one cloaked figure left, hunched over one of the bodies. In spite of Dedue's objections, Dimitri ran over to him, safe in the knowledge that if the figure tried anything, an archer and two very inventive mages would have at him.

"You there," he said, loud enough that the figure could hear his voice. "Are you hurt?"

In response, the figure turned to Dimitri, stood, and promptly collapsed, blood starting to form a shallow pool around them. Eyes wide, the prince sprinted to the figure, propping them on his shoulder. As he started carrying the man back, he saw the others making their way toward him; his vassal reaching him first. "Dedue, call for Mercedes, this soldier is losing a lot of blood."

Dedue looked like he was going to say something, but the words died in his throat. "Of course. Can you carry him on your own?"

"I'll be fine, but I don't think that we have long to save him."

Without another word, Dedue ran to the others, shouting for their healer. With his other hand, Dimitri pulled back the cloak obscuring the figure's head. To his surprise, it was a young man with messy gray-green hair. From the looks of it, he couldn't have been much older than Dimitri himself.

"Lay him down for me, please," Mercedes called while she ran.

Dimitri obliged, carefully putting the man down. On closer inspection, his left arm was a mess of puncture wounds, and his clothes were in tatters. It was entirely possible that his some of his wounds were from earlier fights as well.

Mercedes knelt at Dimitri's side, placing her hands over the man's chest. "This won't work," she muttered, biting her lip. "I can heal his wounds, but he's losing too much blood. I need you to stop the bleeding. Do you know field medicine?"

He nodded. "A bit. I'm no combat medic, but I have a passable understanding of human anatomy."

"That should be enough. Here," she said, handing him a satchel. "This is a medical kit. Cut away the the clothes around his arms, and wrap the wounds tightly in gauze. Apply pressure to each wound for 30 seconds."

Dimitri did as he was told, using the dagger on his belt to remove the sleeves. When he was about to start patching up the left arm, Ashe took the discarded cloth from beside him. "I'll take care of the other arm. Dimitri, could I borrow that knife to improvise a bandage?"

The prince nodded as he worked. Whoever this man was, he clearly wasn't a stranger to combat. Scars criss-crossed all over his arms, leaving only his hands untouched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Byleth at Mercedes' side, helping her with some of his own healing magic. The Professor really was a jack of all trades.

After what felt like hours, Mercedes sighed deeply. "Okay, I think he's stable. Unconscious, but stable. Thanks to your work, I'm fairly certain we managed to avoid any brain damage, too. Even so, we should get him back to the monastery as soon as possible."

Byleth nodded in agreement. "We've completed our mission regardless. Dedue, would you mind carrying him?" he asked, pointing to the wounded man.

"Without delay," the vassal said. "Let us make haste."

* * *

The trip back was without incident. Byleth thanked whatever Gods were listening for that. When they arrived back at Garreg Mach, he sent the students off to the Officer's Academy while he brought the unconscious soldier to Manuela. As Byleth entered the infirmary, Manuela raised an eyebrow, pointing at the young man he was propping up on one shoulder. "Who's this? Your drinking partner, perhaps?"

He cracked a half-smile. "No, unfortunately. But now that you mention it, I think I could use a drink."

"Well, you're welcome to all the medicinal alcohol you like," she laughed. "But really, who is this? Do I need to report anything to the Archbishop?"

Byleth shook his head. "Not a danger, I don't think. We found him during that excursion Seteth sent us on. He was bleeding pretty bad, but the kids and I patched him up, well as we could."

"You could've fooled me," she said, under her breath. "I swear, that Mercedes is almost at my level already. Anyway, I'll make sure to let you know when he wakes up."

From behind him, Byleth heard someone knocking on the open door. "Professor? The Archbishop requests your presence."

Clenching his jaw, the professor turned to see Seteth's neutral face looking into the room. "I take it that you found him with the enemy?"

"Yes, that's correct, Seteth. I'll head over to the audience hall in just a moment."

The other man narrowed his eyes. "I see. Best not tarry too long, Professor. Archbishop Rhea is a _very_ busy woman."

With that said, Seteth left the two professors alone. Byleth clicked his tongue in annoyance. "How do you deal with that man and remain sane? Every day, it's something new with him."

"Come now, don't be like that" Manuela chuckled. "Seteth is an acquired taste, but beneath that harsh demeanor, he's actually quite the sweetheart. If not a bit obsessive."

"I hope you're right, else I might follow in my father's footsteps and take to the bottle," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Wish me luck," he added as he left.

"Luck," she said, sardonically. "Come back once you've spoken to the Archbishop. I'll have a prognosis for you by then."

Walking through the dimly-lit hallways, Byleth passed by a few familiar faces, nodding to Jeralt and Hanneman as he passed by them. The latter tried to accost him for further research into his enigmatic crest, but Byleth waved him off.

The moment he stepped foot into the Archbishop's chambers, Byleth heard a loud sigh. "Well, you certainly took your time. I thought I told you not to tarry."

Rhea gave him an admonishing stare. "Now Seteth, what have I told you about causing undue stress? The Professor is as valuable an asset to Garreg Mach as any of us. I will not abide you to treat him like a servant."

"Of course, your grace. I apologize profusely," Seteth said, the color leaving his face.

She turned her gaze to Byleth, a warm smile gracing her soft features. "Good den, Professor. I received word of your success from Dimitri in the past hour. Though, something still gnaws at me."

"In regards to the mission?" he responded, curtly.

Seteth's eyes widened. "You will address the Archbishop with respect when you-"

"Do relax, Seteth. The Professor was raised by Jeralt, he means no offense," Rhea said. "Do ignore him, Professor Byleth. Regardless, yes. The young one you brought back. He perplexes me."

Byleth inclined his head. "How so?"

"Dimitri reported that he first found him amongst several deceased enemy soldiers. It was his belief that this young man felled all of those soldiers. As such, I ask of you, is this possible?"

"That depends," he responded, putting a hand to his chin. "Are you asking me as a professor, or as a mercenary?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Would my response alter your judgment?"

"Potentially."

"Then I ask you as neither one nor the other. I request that you answer as both, if possible."

Byleth nodded. "Very well. You ask if it is possible for one soldier to best 16 men, without their comrades raising an alarm. My answer would be yes, given a few extenuating circumstances."

Seteth huffed. "Ridiculous. If you truly believe that, then how do you explain the state you found him in? To the best of my understanding, he was on death's doorstep."

"Let the Professor finish, Seteth," Rhea reprimanded, lightly.

"Consider first the experience of both parties. Based on their total lack of a strategy, I'd wager that those men were as green as they come. Furthermore, the garb worn by that young man is reminiscent of an assassin's."

The Archbishop looked intrigued. "How do you mean?"

"I mean as pertains to a hired killer, not to what a student here at Garreg Mach could take a certification exam to become. It's largely postulation, but due to the number of wounds on his body, I believe this line of reasoning to be logically sound."

"But you still haven't answered the question," Seteth said.

Byleth wagged a finger. "Ah, but I have. If he was indeed an assassin - one who works best under the cloak of darkness - then the proverbial stars would have aligned in his favor. Not only was it dusk, but one among them, a dark mage, had conjured a cloud of magical fog to obscure our vision."

Rhea nodded knowingly. "But that sort of magic works both ways. Your vision was obscured, as was theirs. Since the fog was magical, it also dulled auditory stimuli. Truly the perfect conditions for an assassin to do their work. So then, how _was _this young man injured so?"

"Unfortunately," he began, shaking his head, "We'll have to wait for him to tell us the specifics. I can offer you my theories on that matter for hours on end, but at the end of the day, it's simply guesswork."

She beamed. "If I were able, I'd love to hear all those theories of yours. But we're pressed for time, given... Recent developments. Before you depart, tell me, how are my students?"

Byleth looked down, his expression pained. "They've had a difficult week. This whole affair with Lonato was their first time fighting and killing civilians. Dimitri's still having a crisis of conscience, I think. Hell, they all are, even Felix. Ashe's had it the worst though."

"Ah..." she said, wincing. "It is truly regrettable that it was his arrow which put an end to Lonato's life. If only it were possible to reverse time and alter the outcome. I do not wish that burden upon anyone, much less one such as he."

He shook his head. "Regrettable, yes. But necessary. If not for his actions, it is unlikely that Dimitri would still be with us. That being said, I believe Dimitri still harbors guilt over the whole affair. Before the battle, he asked me to keep Ashe as far from Lonato as possible. Even so.."

Those words hung in the air, leaving a silence which was filled by the shuffling about of monks and nuns. Byleth was the first to speak again. "Never mind that. I plan on giving a lecture on the morality of the battlefield tomorrow. On Tuesday, I'll be opening myself up for counseling, either through the advice box, or in person. Based on how they're doing, I might spend the remainder of the week on similar subjects, leaving combat training to a minimum."

He could tell that Seteth was about to bring up the assassination. Of course he was. The damn man had no sense about him. Thankfully, Rhea cut him off before he started. "An excellent plan of action. We must make certain that the students are fighting fit, both physically and mentally. Combat is but one aspect of the battlefield. That being said, I must thank you for your time. I have some personal matters to attend to, not so, Seteth?"

The other man bowed. "Of course, Your Grace."

Byleth bowed his head and wished the Archbishop a good evening. Being cordial was never his strong suit, but then again, he was Jeralt's own flesh and blood. It wouldn't make sense to expect that of him. Despite his physical and mental exhaustion, he returned once more to the infirmary before calling it a night. There, he found Manuela replacing the improvised bandages on the young man's body.

At the sight of Byleth, she perked up. "Took you long enough. Did they have you draft a speech or something?"

He chuckled. "No, just a battlefield report. Some things involving the students as well." Byleth decided against going into specifics. If he did, he'd just get pity from Manuela, and that was the last thing he wanted right then. His students needed pity, not him.

"Fair enough. So, care to hear what I've found out about our mystery man?"

"Fire away, Doc."

"The fellow's got scars all over. He's no stranger to combat, which is sad for one as young as him. I'd say he's no older than 17 based on my examinations. All his wounds were successfully healed, but White Magic can't restore blood supplies. He'll still be out for another day or two at the most. Oh, and there's this," she finished, haphazardly tossing him a folded up piece of paper. "I found this in one of his cloak's pockets. Didn't bother reading it myself, but maybe there's something in there you could use. Information."

Byleth whistled. "You sure are thorough."

"I have to be," she sighed. "It's tough being a nurse _and _a professor, you know. I don't even have my lesson plans for this week done yet."

He laughed. "Don't worry, I'm sure Hubert would be happy to take your place for you."

"Hey, don't joke about that. He probably would jump at the opportunity," she said, a wry grin on her face.

"Well, thanks again for doing this. I'll buy you a drink when everything settles down."

"I'll hold you to that. Now go get some shut-eye, you look terrible."

Byleth walked away with an easy laugh. She was right, though. He did look terrible. Felt terrible, too. How could he not, with all that was happening? His students were dealing with the realities of killing real people; civilians. Sure, they were still trying to kill the students, but still, it was different for them.

Without even realizing it, he'd made it back to his room. He walked in, closed the door, and did the latch. Just before he turned off his lantern, he unfolded the paper Manuela had given him. It had something written on it, but the handwriting was indecipherable. Too tired to even think, he tossed it aside and snuffed out the flame.

He was asleep before he could even hit the mattress.

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

Probably not.

* * *

Hi everyone! I'm gonna start uploading here again because I've finally started to get my act together!

just kidding ill never get my act together i just wanna post my garbage on more platforms lmao

Please let me know if you're interested in me continuing this fic! I really do love this game, and if there's a demand, I'd be more than happy to have this fic run for a long while.

for more regular updates and to interact with me, feel free to send me a PM, or check crimsnBltz on twitter! i love interacting with you guys!


	2. Chapter 2 - When the Skies Deceive Us

AN: this would have been the fastest i ever posted a second chapter but scrivener crashed no less than 6 times while i was writing this so

did i mention that i love this game

* * *

Dimitri was waiting. Waiting, along with the rest of the class, for Byleth to show up. It was most unlike the Professor to be late. Whenever the knights or other professors gave lectures, they were almost invariably late by a minute or two. Though, in Manuela's case, it erred closer to ten. This was, of course, due to simple human error. Forgetting lesson plans, losing track of time, other commitments running long. Simple things. But the Professor? That man was methodical, inhumanly so. If he said he was going to be somewhere at 9 o'clock, he would be there _exactly_ at 9 o'clock. Not a second later, not a moment earlier.

Still, he was running late. Out of the corner of his eye, Dimitri could see Mercedes preparing to say something. Before she could, the Professor burst through the classroom doors, scrolls in his arms and deep bags under his eyes. "Sincere apologies," he said, his ever-calm voice betraying his frantic motions. "I was slow to wake. Had to hurry to the library to grab some texts for today and tomorrow."

"Hey, no worries," Sylvain said, a winning smile on his face. "It's been what, five minutes since class started?"

Ingrid nodded. "For once, I must agree with Sylvain. There's no need to stress, Professor."

"What do you mean, "For once"? I'm a very agreeable person! Aren't I, Professor?"

Byleth had finished laying out a scroll over his desk, and was in the process of rolling a blackboard toward himself. "No comment. Everyone, please pull out your philosophy texts. This week's schedule will be a bit different from usual."

Sylvain sagged visibly, but did as he was told, along with the rest of the class. Dimitri took this opportunity to raise his hand, and Byleth nodded at him to speak. "Am I correct in assuming that we will be focusing on combat drills this week? Given the circumstances, I imagine that we ought to be well prepared to face the enemy at any time."

"Quite the opposite," the Professor responded, sketching a diagram on the board. "There will be no mandatory combat training this week. Should any of you wish to engage in such an activity on your own time, that's fine. Group tasks will be conducted normally, though."

"So what? We're just going to sit here and pluck weeds from the ground while the Archbishop's life is at stake?" Felix cut in, frowning.

Byleth turned to the class, leaning on his desk. "Not so. We'll be looking at the most important aspect of the battlefield over the course of this week."

Felix narrowed his eyes. "Which would be..?"

"Turn to page 117, if you would," Byleth began, walking behind his desk to get a good look at the class. "To answer your question, we'll be examining the morality of the battlefield, and the mentality of a soldier."

Dedue raised a hand from his place beside Dimitri. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but would psychology not be the more pertinent subject here?"

The Professor nodded. "In some regards, yes. But that will be for tomorrow's lesson. Are there any more questions before we begin?"

After a brief moment of silence, the Professor clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Let's get started then. Recall, if you would, our last discussion on the musings of Saint Indech..."

And so, the class continued. Dimitri had to admit, while Byleth was far from the most entertaining teacher he'd ever had, he was refreshingly honest and efficient. When someone asked a question, he answered to the best of his ability, without fail. Nothing seemed to faze or elude him. But above all, he was relentlessly practical, and would disregard most anything that had no direct bearing on the here and now. Of course, this made his love of philosophy rather peculiar, Dimitri had to admit.

"Right," Byleth said, snapping him back to reality. "We'll not be needing our textbooks past this point, so feel free to put them away."

From behind Dimitri, Annette piped up. "Uh, Professor? Class isn't over yet. Are you sure we don't need our books?"

"Quite. This is something which is different for everyone. Following a prescribed method as is provided by your textbooks would only lead to false conclusions. Given the serious nature of the topic, that's something I aim to avoid."

Dimitri smiled softly. He could almost hear Annette nodding. The girl really did look up to The Professor.

The Professor gestured broadly. "Killing is inherently wrong. Are we in agreement?"

For just a second, the class was a mess of confused stares and furrowed brows, but after a moment, they all offered some form of affirmation.

Byleth placed his hands on the desk, leaning toward the class. "And, regrettable though it is, we have all taken a life. All of us have interred another to the grave. As such, we have all committed a sin; a grave one, at that."

"Is that a question?" came an irritated Felix.

"This is the contradiction which lies at the heart of any soldier's mind," he continued, ignoring the student. "Regardless of our station, we must all take the life of another. To further a greater good - to guarantee the peace - we must do evil. So, I put it to you all, how do we reconcile this?"

For a fleeting moment, an odd look crossed Ashe's face. "Is there even an answer to such a question?"

"I suppose..." Ingrid said, her expression severe. "You don't. We simply have to live with our actions."

"Both of you are correct, in a sense," Byleth responded. "The fact of the matter is that it's a matter of perspective. Some take it upon themselves to honor the fallen and appease the dead-"

At that, Dimitri tensed up. Not enough that anyone but Dedue noticed, but still.

"...While others ignore the matter entirely. The way we cope with our actions varies on an individual basis."

"So how do you justify it? Killing, I mean." Felix cut in, once more.

Byleth shot him a dirty look. "The same as my father. At the end of a battle, one is left to bear the burden of their actions, while the other must bear the weight of the earth on their corpse. Neither is truly a winner, but one still lives to tell the tale. However, you misunderstand, Felix. This isn't justification we're talking about. It's coping with the act of murder."

"For some, maybe. But in my eyes, the enemy cast their lot when they stood against us," he responded, nonchalantly.

Dimitri was about to interrupt when raw, untempered anger flared in the Professor's eyes. "And what of those made to fight against us? Those bound by oath, or contract, or law? Those who beg not to die, yet fall all the same? Those who had no choice but to "cast their lot", as put it? Can you reconcile those under that same philosophy of yours?"

For once, Felix was caught completely off guard, unable to respond.

"Apologies, that was unlike me," Byleth sighed, regaining his composure. "It's been a difficult few weeks for all of us. Even so, it is critical that we address this issue now, morbid though it may be. You have no assignments due tomorrow, but I would implore you to think about what we've discussed today. Dismissed."

The very moment Byleth finished, the bell rang, signalling the end of lectures for the day. His timing, as always, was impeccable. Unusual tardiness aside, though, there was still something off about the Professor, almost as though he was confused at his own outburst.

"Dimitri? Are you quite alright?" the Professor said, an eyebrow raised.

He felt color rise in his face. The prince was so lost in his own thoughts that he failed to realize he'd been staring intently at the Professor long enough for the rest of the class - minus Dedue, of course - to have left. "Ah, apologies, I was miles away. That being said, do you have a minute to spare? I'd like to have a quick chat."

Byleth stretched. "Normally, I'd oblige you, but I'm exhausted. Not to mention," he said, looking past Dimitri. "I believe I've been summoned. Am I right, Manuela?"

A sultry chuckle came from behind. "Full marks, Professor. It seems our mystery man has woken up. The Archbishop would like you to assess him, whatever that means."

"Sorry, Dimitri. I'll probably hit the sack after that, however long it takes. For the rest of the week, my schedule is open, if that's any help."

"Tomorrow it is," he said, an easy smile on his lips. "Best of luck, Professor."

As he walked out of the classroom, that perpetual dull throbbing in the back of his head intensified. The dead grew restless, they demanded he pay tribute to their memory.

"Another headache, sire?" Dedue said, now at his side.

Dimitri hid the pain behind a half-smile. "Nothing so bad as to dissuade me from training."

"I shall assist, if you wish it."

He laughed. "Of course! How could I hope to spar without a partner as skilled as you?"

Even as they walked, the pain remained. The voices kept whispering to him. Begging for vengeance. In time, some of their requests would be fulfilled.

Much sooner than anyone could have predicted.

* * *

"Well, Professor, I must congratulate you."

Byleth turned to her as they approached the infirmary. "Whatever for?"

She half laughed, half sighed. "You somehow look _worse_ today than you did last night. If we didn't already know what the undead looked like, I'd offer you up as my best guess."

"Thanks," he huffed. "Now run along and drive off another one of those knights. Mercenaries aren't very talkative, and assassins even less so. I very much doubt that anything interesting will transpire."

"Hey," she said, faking offense. "Don't jinx me. I really think this one's a keeper."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me know how long he lasts. I've got 300 gold on half an hour."

A vein on Manuela's forehead bulged. "There's a _betting pool?_"

"There are several."

Before the other professor could start fuming, Byleth waved her off, and walked into the infirmary. He was greeted by the sight of the previously unconscious youth, now awake, one of his arms covered in bandages. His eyes were green, perhaps a shade or two lighter than his hair. From an outsider's perspective, he could pass for just another student at the monastery. But Byleth knew better.

The youth turned towards the Professor, alerted by the sound of his footsteps. "Oh, you're new. Don't suppose you could tell me what's going on?" he said, his voice dry and hoarse.

"In time. First, I'm going to ask you a few questions. Are you well enough to answer, or would you like to rest for a while longer?"

"Questions? Sure, I ain't at my best right now, but I can probably humor you."

Byleth grabbed a chair from the desk and placed it next to the bed. "First, who are you?"

He pouted. "Wow, cut straight to the chase, why don't you?"

"Yes, that's my intention," he deadpanned.

"I didn't-" he stopped himself, sighing. "Never mind. I'm Forne. A mercenary, though I specialize in more... Unsavory activities."

"Such as?"

"Espionage, kidnapping, infiltration, and so on."

"So you're an assassin?"

"Well, yes," he said, wincing. "I don't suppose that's a great first impression, is it?

"Perhaps to others it would be off-putting," Byleth said, nodding. "But I was a mercenary myself, until recently. Out there, you have to do what you have to do."

Forne's eyebrows shot up. "No kidding? Which merry band were you a part of?"

"My father is Jeralt. I followed in his footsteps. And you?"

"Sorry," he said, scratching his head. "That's a long story. Mind if I save it for later?"

"Not a problem. Here, fill this out, and I'll be back tomorrow," Byleth handed him a clipboard with a questionnaire attached. "Fill out your full name, birth date, and so on."

Forne looked surprised. "What, that's it? That was only one question."

"You're an honest sort. Wouldn't pose a threat to the Archbishop."

"The Archbishop?" he said, his eyes wide. "She's here?"

Byleth inclined his head. "Of course. Where do you think you are?"

"Nobody's had the common courtesy to tell me. That woman, the one who stank of alcohol-"

"Manuela."

Forne nodded. "Yes, that one. All she told me was that I was in the infirmary, and then she left. Next thing I know, you're here."

He sighed. "Apologies. She's a bit scatterbrained. Now get some rest. I've no doubt that the Archbishop will want an audience with you soon enough."

"Alright. Thanks. Oh, I never got your..." Forne looked up to see that Byleth had already left and closed the door behind him. "...Name."

* * *

Two days later, on the 9th day of the Blue Sea Moon, Forne was given an all clear from Manuela.

At that same time, Byleth was enjoying the first moment of peace he'd had all week. Granted, he wouldn't have had it any other way. Every iota of energy, every second spent on his students, it was all well spent. Even so, he enjoyed this brief respite. Rather, he would have enjoyed it if not for a though nagging in the back of his mind.

Moving to his desk, he procured a small, yellow paper from a drawer. The same note Forne had on his body. Since Manuela had given it to him, Byleth hadn't the time to examine it in further detail. At first glance, it was a simple, nonsensical phrase written in chicken-scratch. "Five days before dawn, the minnows climb against the tide," it said.

But something about it was odd. Familiar, even. It was painfully obvious that it was code for something, but what?

"Ah, Professor," came a grating voice from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. "The Archbishop requests your presence at once."

"Has something happened, Seteth?"

Seteth walked into the room. "It would seem that boy you brought in has some most distressing news. That is all I can relay at present. Have you any idea where I might find Dimitri?"

"What for?"

"Her Eminence requested him as well."

Byleth shook his head, sighing. "I've not the energy to ask you why. Dimitri should be in the Officer's Academy around this time. Best of luck."

Again ignoring Seteth, the Professor made for the Audience Chamber. When he arrived, he was greeted by the sight Catherine, Shamir, and Forne, all before Rhea. Forne was dressed in his tattered garb, his wounded arm still lightly bandaged.

"Greetings, Professor," Rhea said, her serene voice echoing through the chamber. "Pardon my rudeness, but is Dimitri accompanying you?"

He walked up to the Archbishop and gave a small bow. "Seteth went to fetch him. He should be along any minute now," he said, nodding to the others. "Cassandra, Shamir, Forne. Good to see you all."

Catherine laughed. "Y'know, I'd beat the living daylights outta most people for calling me Cassandra. But I don't mind it so much when you do it."

"That's funny," Shamir said, frowning. "You still don't let me call you that. We've fought together for years. I saved you from an assassin two days ago."

"Hey, it's different with you, Shamir. When you call me Cassandra, it sounds like a Titanus is reading me my last rites. Why don't you try adding some feeling to your words, and I'll consider it."

Shamir almost smiled. "Think I'll pass for now. I might take you up on that in the future, though."

Forne was looking intently at Catherine's partner, sizing her up. The ex-mercenary caught on, and turned towards him. "What? Am I really that fascinating?"

"_Arth__ sei d'hempt?_" he said.

"_Ne hempt__, sebl se pflú, ta fetchày,_" she said, almost instinctively. Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Wait, you speak Dagdan?"

The assassin whistled, clearly amused. "Dear me, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Shall I act as a translator, or-"

Before he could continue, the doors to the chamber opened once more, and Seteth walked to Rhea, Dimitri following suit.

Rhea gave a soft smile. "Amusing though this conversation has been, I fear we must address a more grave matter. "Forne, was it?"

In an instant, the smile vanished from his face. "Yes, your grace."

"Please, would you tell the others what you've told me?"

"Of course. As you all might have gathered, my name is Forne. I was born in Dagda, but escaped to Fódlan at a young age. Prior to last week, I was a member of a band of thieves."

Seteth clicked his tongue. "At least you saw the error of your ways. I assume that you were attempting to escape your former allies?"

"You assume wrong," he said. "We were ambushed, taken prisoner. We tried to escape, but I was the only one who made it out."

Catherine looked puzzled. "Taken prisoner by who? The Kingdom? The Empire?"

Forne shook his head. "They weren't affiliated with any of the major powers on Fódlan, as far as I could tell. But instead of leaving immediately, I stayed hidden in their encampment for a few days. I wanted to figure out why they bothered with us. Unlike most thieves, we didn't leave a calling card, and we masqueraded as an acting troupe. Far as we could tell, nobody knew about us."

Byleth crossed his arms, deep in thought. "Curious indeed. Jeralt and I kept tabs on most mercenary bands. That extended to thieves as well. What you're describing is something even we failed to notice."

"That aside," came Shamir. "What did you discover?"

"Well, a few things. First, they were associated with whoever's trying to assassinate the Archbishop. Second, they were in direct correspondence with someone at what they called "The Holy Site". Last, and most pertinent, is that they were plotting another attack on Garreg Mach. Not as a secondary attempt to attack Her Grace, but rather to massacre the civilian and student population."

Seteth's face went pale. "Do you have anything to substantiate this wild claim?"

Forne sighed. "I did. But it seems to have been lost during that last battle at Magdred."

"Are you referring to this?" Byleth said, procuring the note Manuela had found.

"Ah!" Forne's face lit up. "Yes, that's it! Would you mind reading out what it says?"

He nodded. "Certainly. It says: "Five days before dawn, the minnows climb against the tide." Did I get that right?"

"Yes," the assassin said. "On the sixth of this moon - I think it was a Sunday - I made my move. The ringleader was writing a message to the correspondent I mentioned before. When he sent off the messenger, I lay in wait for him to get far enough from the camp. I killed him silently as I could, but he had a sigil on his body that alerted the camp to his death. All I had time to grab before _it _gave chase was this letter."

Rhea frowned. "What do you mean?"

Fear crept into Forne's eyes. "I... I can't recall. All I remember is this ungodly screech, as if a demon had risen. Then, I saw an enormous shadow run after me. I evaded it for as long as I could, and I eventually made it to Magdred Way, where a dark mage had cast a layer of fog over the battlefield. I thought I was in the clear, but..."

Something crossed Seteth's face for a fleeting moment. Something between resentment and pity. Byleth wasn't really sure. "But you weren't," Seteth finished.

"Not even close. There were a few archers, but between the fog and cover of dark, I didn't have much trouble dealing with them. I'd just finished off one of them when I saw a set of eyes. Six glowing, red eyes. Before I could do anything, it got my arm in its mouth. It had teeth, so many teeth. Long and sharp as daggers, each one of them. And its claws, I..."

Dimitri looked concerned. "Are you alright? Do you need to sit down."

Forne gathered himself. "No- I mean yes, yes, I'm fine. Largely thanks to you, by the way. I managed to put a knife in the back of its mouth, which is why I still have this arm to begin with. Even so, it was about to go for my chest, but then, it just stopped. Somewhere, I heard a scream, and the fog started to clear up. When the fog left, it did too."

"Which brings us to today," Rhea concluded. "I am sorry to ask this of you, but what exactly did that letter you intercepted mean? And to whom was it addressed?"

"I wish I could tell you with 100% certainty, but I only managed to piece together about half of the code they used in their correspondance. From what I overheard, the "minnows" refer to what the ringleader called "The culmination of years of research on crests". So, my best guess is that the letter's communicating the day when this group plans to release these "minnows" on Garreg Mach. Five days before dawn probably translates to five days before the assassination attempt."

"And the recipient?" Seteth asked.

Forne shrugged. "No clue who it actually is. All I heard was something about flames or fire."

The Archbishop sighed, her expression troubled. "There you have it. Catherine, Shamir, marshall the knights and begin an investigation. Go through everyone's mailboxes, leave no stone unturned. If one among us is complicit in this, they must face judgment."

"Understood," they said in unison, leaving the chamber shortly after.

"Professor. I am truly sorry to shackle you with this responsibility, but I would like you, alongside the Blue Lions," she said, nodding to Dimitri, "To conduct a search of the immediate area surrounding Magdred Way. If we can nip this attack in the bud, that would be best for everyone. Rest assured, I will have a company of knights assist you in this endeavor."

"As you command, Archbishop," said Dimitri, with a deep bow.

Byleth responded in turn with a nod. "I won't disappoint."

Rhea smiled at both of them. "Thank you. Again, I must aplogize for this burden I am placing upon you. If we weren't already stretched thin, I'd have Jeralt lead the investiagtion, but with this assassination business..." she trailed off. "Never mind. I wish both of you good fortune. May the Goddess watch over you."

With Dimitri at his side, Byleth turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving Rhea and Seteth alone with Forne. As the door began to close, he overheard Forne say something to Rhea. It sounded like "_The old man has come to collect his debt._"

Things just kept getting more and more curious.

* * *

The rest of the week came and went. Mercedes and Sylvain cleaned the stables admirably, Ingrid's flight watch was uneventful, and so on. Catherine and Shamir's investigation had yet to bear fruit, and so Byleth had held out on his venture to Magdred. Best to be prepared to face whatever horrid beast Forne had encountered.

Then, Monday came. Class began as it usually did, with Dimitri and Dedue showing up long before the others. Slowly, but surely, the others trickled in. Last to arrive was Ingrid, dragging Sylvain behind her by the ear. Doubtless, he'd been chatting up some unfortunate woman, and Ingrid had been passing by. Byleth almost felt sorry for the poor lad. Almost.

As usual, the bell rang at precisely 9:30. Gods, Byleth loved the routine of this place. Just as he was about to start the class, the doors to the classroom opened to reveal a green-haired youth in uniform. From his place in the doorway, Forne gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, this _is _the Officer's Academy, right?"

Mercedes smiled gently. "Oh! You're the one from last week, right? At Magdred? What are you doing here?"

Felix looked unamused. "Who?"

"The one His Highness saved. If I recall, you assisted with patching his wounds," Dedue said, his voice flat.

"Of course I remember, what I'm really asking is why he's here," Felix responded.

Forne frowned. "I thought that was self-evident. I'm here to join your house."

Dimitri looked shocked. "But why? You haven't even met most of us, but you want to pledge your loyalty?"

He shrugged. "I owe all of you a life debt. At first, I thought it was just you to whom I was indebted, but as I learned more about what happened from the Archbishop, I came to realize that all of you played a part in saving me."

"So you're offering your loyalty out of obligation?" Ingrid said, her head inclined.

"Call it what you want. I just figure that the best way to repay you all would be to offer my services to the Blue Lions. Granted, I don't actually know what that entails, but won't it be fun finding out?"

"How exactly did you pay the fee to enter? You don't exactly look like you come from money," Felix chimed in.

Forne tapped his nose. "Connections, among other things. I get around."

Byleth cleared his throat, sounding irritated. "Are you all quite finished? Chatter can wait until after class."

Everyone looked to the Professor, who, after a moment, cracked a half-smile. "Kidding. See? I can do humor too."

At first, the class was silent. But slowly, as if waiting to make sure Byleth was actually joking, they began to smile, and eventually laugh. In that moment, Byleth observed, his students were truly happy. Their troubles, their past, their future, it was all secondary to the moment.

If it were up to him, Byleth would have loved nothing more than to keep the smiles on their faces.

But fate was a cruel mistress, and time, an even crueler enforcer.

* * *

AN: why are you reading this instead of playing three houses

(if you're interested in how I'll be using Dagdan as a language, I used Vulgar [language creator]. here's (5179295253956289) the seed for the language if you want to look at an overview)

Thanks for the reviews! I'll try to answer your questions as best as I'm able.

allen Vth: Thanks so much for your kind words! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic so far!

Indigo One/Awakey: Since FFnet doesn't allow me to post individual tags, I had to make do with just having the genre be Romance, but I plan on doing a few couples as the story progresses! As things stand, I've only planned out M!Byleth/Dimitri, but I'm also contemplating a few options with the other members of the Blue Lions.

Dracus6: if not for an immense amount of personal restraint id vent my opinions on edelgard for years but yes she's cute i guess


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